Story
Aggregate Writing thetrin It is the year 21XX. B.R.O Alliance Forces roll across the Middle East. Shit has gotten real. The hot vaguely Middle Eastern sun beats down onto the sand as explosions deafen the ear and dust obscures vision. A tent sits just meters behind the frontline, its loose fabric flapping in the wind. Inside, a scar-faced general stands in front of a tactical map. Several soldiers sit before him, but only one there matters. His mane is glorious, and his stare an icy, deadly one. “Dude,” the general growls, “we’ve called you in from the frontlines for a very important mission.” “How much worse can it get?” Dudebro growls, stroking his beard and beating women off with a stick. “We have reason to believe that Pesquali, one of the most dangerous terrorists to ever live is alive, and he’s selling weapons to the Middle East.” “Which part?” “All of it.” The general sticks a Polaroid picture of the eye-scarred and mustachioed Pesquali on the map. “Pesquali is mine,” Dudebro roars. “He fucked my shit up, so I’m going to have to shoot him.” “Or slice him,” Dudebro’s sidekick Chicken interjects. “Yes, or slice him,” Dudebro responds as he chews menacingly on his own tongue. “I haven’t decided which yet.” “You’re going to have a lot of time to make your choice, Dudebro,” the general says. “Pesquali was just spotted in Mexico City. Follow the guns, find our man.” As Chicken and Dudebro step out of the tent, the wind begins the pick up, and sand begins to black out the sky. “Are we leaving immediately, Dude?” Chicken asks. “Eff yeah, Chicken,” Dudebro answers. “It’s Straight-up Dawg Time.” ---- plagiarize It is the year 21XX. B.R.O Alliance Forces roll across the Middle East. Shit has gotten real. Like totally less ethereal. The hot vaguely Middle Eastern sun beats down onto the sand as explosions deafen the years and dust obscures visions. A tent sits just meters behind the frontline, its loose fabric flapping in the wind like a ladys CENSORED after our hero is done with her. Inside, a scar-faced general stands in front of a tactical map. Several soldiers sit before him, but only one there matters. His mane is glorious, and his stare an icy, deadly one. “Dude,” the general growls, “we’ve called you in from the frontlines for a very important mission.” “How much more fucked sideways can it get?” Dudebro growls, stroking his beard and beating women off with a stick. “We have reason to believe that Pesquali, one of the most dangerous terrorists to ever live is alive, and he’s selling weapons to the Middle East.” “Which part?” “All of it.” "That's my favourite part. You want me to fuck the whole area in the general area if you get what I mean? "No." The general sticks a Polaroid picture of the eye-scarred and mustachioed Pesquali on the map. “Pesquali is mine,” Dudebro roars. “He fucked my shit up, so I’m going to have to shoot him right in the man berries. The sugalumps if you like that indie shit.” “Or slice him,” Dudebro’s sidekick Chicken interjects. “Yes, or Kimbo Slice him,” Dudebro responds as he chews menacingly on his own tongue. “With a shank, or a gold dipped used lady torpedo. I haven’t decided which yet.” “You’re going to have a lot of time to make your choice, Dudebro,” the general says. “Pesquali was just spotted in Mexico City. Follow the guns, find our man.” As Chicken and Dudebro step out of the tent, the wind begins the pick up, and sand begins to black out the sky. “Are we leaving immediately, Dude?” Chicken asks. “Eff yeah, Chicken,” Dudebro answers. “It’s Straight-up Dawg Time, and I'm the straightest dawg around. Every female name you can imagine, I've done a bitch called that. Just sayin.” ---- Shlabotnik Every boss battle should end with a BioShock-style decision: SHOOT / SLICE Except for the last fight against Pasquali. That's when it cuts to a very expensive pre-rendered animated video of Dudebro decapitating Pasquali, sending the head soaring hundreds of feet into the air while his mini-gun turns Pasquali's still-standing body into a pulpy mess. The head lands on the pile of bullet-riddled gore just as Dudebro finishes the last of his cigar, crushing the lit cherry under his boot and growling through a wreath of smoke.. "Couldn't decide." ---- thetrin START TRANSMISSION GENERAL: Dudebro, have you secured the VIP? DUDEBRO: General, I've totally nutshot like five dudes just now, but yeah, Dr. Beefsweat Barrelchest is in my custody. GENERAL: The information that he holds is imperative to finding Pesquali. DUDEBRO: Barrelchest says that the B.R.O. High Command has been experimenting on aliens for years. GENERAL! Is this true?! GENERAL: You said HIGH Command... DUDEBRO: Ha ha! I just got that...but is it true? GENERAL: Totally. DUDEBRO: The aliens will come looking for us, General! We have to do something! GENERAL: Get to Area 51, and take Dr. Barrelchest with you! He can help! DUDEBRO: Roger. Dudebro out. END TRANSMISSION ---- crowphoenix Dictator Fem's office was nice, I guess. I'd seen better. It was filled with old shit furniture and those little things that hold flowers. Some people call 'em antiques and vases. I call 'em useless shit. There were even flowers. I was handcuffed too. Didn't really care. They hadn't even tightened 'em enough to hurt. It was beginning to look like the flowers weren't the only pansies in the room. Waste of time to let myself get caught. Fem was busy checking himself in the mirror, tapping his hair with a comb so it'd be just right. He was clean shaven. I suspected he didn't even need to. The man hair wouldn't grace such a feeble chin. Finally, he turned to me and squeaked. I had that effect on people. He coughed. "Ah, Mister Bro," He said, tugging at his perfect suit. "It seems..." "Hold up," I said, pulling a chair from the desk with my foot and flopping down in it. "There ain't no mister shit. Dudebro. That's all, Fem." "Well, Dudebro," Fem said, feeling the words obviously tear at his weak mouth. "It seems your rebellion is finished." "Naw," I told him putting my boots on his desk. "Excuse me?" He asked, trying to force them off. They didn't budge. "We have you captured." "No," I told him, pushing him away with the toe of my boot. "You don't." The look Fem gave me as he picked himself up off the floor was one of pure sissyness. Kinda made me sad for him. Not his fault he'd been born with out the essence of bro. "Fine," He said, turning and swishing his hands. "Guards. Kill him." Nothing happened. I yawned, which accidentally broke the handcuffs. "Guards, I said..." "They're already dead, Fem," I told him as I reached into my beard and pulled out the emergency Natty I stored up there next to the handgun. I wouldn't need it. The crack of the opening can caused Fem to whirl around. The sight of me gulping the golden brew made him quake in fear. Refreshed, I stood up. It was straight up dawg time. ---- Drkirby I request that Dudebro has to take down an army of Fighter Jets with only his knife in one level, at the end of which he will rip off the giant Vulcan cannon on the giant fighter jet at the front of the squad, and use it to destroy all the other jets, and then fight the boss inside of the giant jet, using only his knife. "So what if I brought a knife to a gun fight." ---- thetrin Act 1: Bromance of the Three Kingdoms Snow falls silently across the battlefield. As they touch the faces of dead men, they do not weep. Snowflakes cannot weep, nor can they hate, love or bone hot broads. The valuable Alaskan pipeline sits scarred and battle worn. Despite efforts by the B.R.O. Alliance, the pipeline lies almost destroyed, blood staining its metal skin. Snow covers the stains in white, but the blood will not go. After hearing that Commander Limpwrist was pushing forces to capture the pipeline, Dudebro and Chicken diverted from their course to Mexico City in an effort to cut them off at the pass. What they saw when they arrived chilled their bones. Except Dudebro. He doesn’t have bones. His skeleton is comprised of solid awesomantium. Chicken: Holy shit, what happened here, Dudebro?! Dudebro: Limpwrist happened, brah. He slaughtered these soldiers like they were meat. Like roast beef, or maybe pastrami. These men deserved better than nutshots. Chicken: Roast beef with some honey Dijon on sourdough sounds pretty good right now. Dudebro: I wouldn’t mind Limpwrist’s still-beating heart on a platter. And a Natty Ice to wash it down with. Gun fire and explosions erupted in the distance. Dudebro squinted and adjusted his sunglasses so he could get a better view of the battle 30 miles away. Dudebro lights up a J and crouches. His muscles begin to ripple intensely as the ground and snow beneath him contorts and shatters slowly. Dudebro: Get on my back, duder. Chicken: Rock. As Chicken jumps on Dudebro’s back, his muscles tense to their limit and release, his legs straightening completely. Dudebro launches into the air, his brodiocity and form almost balletic. As they soared closer to the battlefield, Dudebro receives a positively lame transmission. General: Dudebro! We’ve gotten word that Pesquali and Limpwrist are working together! They’ve heard that you diverted to Alaska, and Pesquali is sending everything he’s got at you! Dudebro: How lame is it, General? General: Pesquali has sent 600 flying Mexican bums your way. ETA 30 seconds! Dudebro: 600 Mexican bum fights… Chicken: Dudebro, we’re coming in for a landing. We’re going to need some smoke cover! Dudebro wrenches six spliffs from his bandolier, and lights them all with one quick snap of his fingers. Taking them between his fingers, Dudebro throws the spliffs like throwing knives, each on shooting like a javelin into a different soldier’s eye. The smoke begins to cloud the vision and cognition of everyone but Dudebro. Dudebro: Battle Mode, Activate. Dudebro pops all five of his collars. Dudebro: It’s Straight-Up Dawg Time. (600 mexican bum fights is a reference to a time I was in a gamestop with a buddy, and there was an ad for IL2 Sturmovik, and I swear I heard someone in the ad say "600 mexican bum fights"....secret bums over europe) (Also, I vote that even if the game is polygonal, the cutscenes should be 16-bit era spirte-based cutscenes) ---- Drkirby I request a recurring mad scientist boss in the vain of Allen from Metal Slug and Wild Dog from Time Crisis. Dr. Doomeyer! An evil scientist who can shoot lasers out of his eyes, who may or may not be in league with the big bad, makes giant robots and shit and the only guy Dudebro had some trouble killing! In the first game (Or Prequel I should say, since we are starting at #2), Doomeyer does some evil stuff, and in the end Dudebro stabs him in his left eye. Doomeyer escapes though, by pulling out a button and blows up his lab or fort or something. In the second game (Dudebro 2!), he will show up in a giant mobile fortress, in which the General will say that while he has no clue if Doomeyer is in league with Pesquali, but to be certain Dudebro must detour and kill him. After getting inside of the giant Mobil fortress, Dudebro fights his way though waves of robots and solders, in till he makes it to the control room of the place. Once he gets there, he will find out that the whole fort in controlled by the giant robot battle suit Dr. Doomeyer is piloting, and thus Dudebro and Doomeyer fight. Dudebro easily takes out the battle suit of course, and it is then that an eye patched Doomeyer starts firing his laser eye at Dudebro, after which Dudebro shoots his other eye out. Doomeyer then taunts Dudebro "I'll see you later", pulls out anther button device, and blows up the whole fort, after which Dudebro will do an epic escape. In the 3rd game, Doomeyer will have a Geordi like visor, which he can once again shoot his lasers out of. Dudebro will again try to kill him, by ripping off the visor, crushing it, and cutting off both of his legs and arms. Just as he is going in for the killing blow, Doomeyer taunts saying "Not today Dudebro", flips up a false tooth which has a button under it, and pushes the button with his mouth, leading to anther large explosion. In the 4th game, Doomeyer will have a new visor, and prosthetic arms and legs. Dudebro will at the end cut off Doomeyer's Head from his body, but once again Doomeyer pulls the same trick, and makes an explosion with the button in his false tooth. In the 5th game, Doomeyer comes back with a fully metallic prosthetic body, with only his head being original. Dudebro this time goes right for the kill, and just incinerates Doomeyer's head with a partical cannon. Doomeyer's prosthetic body explodes, and Dudebro once again moves on. In the 6th game, Doomeyer is still not dead. He has become 100% machine, as it turns out he turned him self into an AI 14 minutes before Dudebro incinerated his head. Dudebro figures out where the AI operates from, and this time kills Doomeyer once and for all. In the 7th game, Doomeyer comes back as a ghost! He fights Dudebro several times in this game as minibosses, and near the end Dudebro builds a Proton Pack and Ghost Trap from a potato and a bit of tin foil, and captures Doomeyer. ---- Jocchan Brolling Stan Overly fat ex-frat boy whose nearly perfectly spherical body is the result of too much partying with dawgs, Brolling Stan... rolls around and bounces on shit. That's it. His weak point is so obvious that I won't even mention it :p Reverend B. Brahnson (& Broner) Reverend Brahnson can reanimate the dead (regular enemies known as Broners). He moves around on a chariot made of Broner bones and carried by Broner horses (the player will need to kill them to be expose his weak point). ---- Brannon In keeping with the theme of this thread; my idea for a section in a later level of the game. ****** After having tracked down Pasquali to Japan, you and Chicken fight your way to Tokyo Palace (real or not, bear with me), where Pasquali has his henchmen hijack some tanks and other heavy gear to stall you (because he knows he can't kill you, yet). You use your gun on them and all your rockets and stuff, but you don't have enough firepower (SHOCKING!). But in the palace, you and Chicken discover a secret ancient room full of katana swords, and mural depicting the legend of Muramasa. Your radiation detector goes off and you realize that all the blades were made of unstable uranium, was the source of the Muramasa curse. Chicken tries to explain this, but you don't care; you just know that they can explode if you throw them hard enough. So you're on the balcony tossing uranium katanas down at the enemy and it holds them off for a bit, but it's not doing enough impact to make a big enough explosion. Then when all hope seems lost, Chicken finds a really strong bow in the back, but no arrows, only blades. Very well You grab the bow. You load a uranium katana. You then say, with smile on your face and knowledge that you just lived through a relentless onslaught and now it's YOUR turn...; "It's Straight up DAWG TIME" *bonus invincibility* And unleash nuclear hell upon the heavy gear. Every blade sent down smashes into the enemy and explodes them in a shower of radiation, flames and gore. There is nothing they can do but run, but you don't let them. You let fly the last blade, the Muramasa itself, the purest uranium-laced construct of death and it utterly destroys the last of the enemies, and all the unexploded shards of swords explode with it, sealing the deal. As you board the helicopter to fly to the next area of conflict, you're handed radiation pills by a nurse, who holds you a bit too long until you beat her off with a stick. John Rambo would be proud. ---- EmCeeGramr Dudebro flipped onto his X-B? stealth skateboard. Designed by a joint coalition of DARPA and Tony Hawk, this sicknasty deck of the future War on Terror had cost $2 billion in R&D. Ducats well spent, as Dudebro was now able to shred undetected over any surface. With an incredible automated trick system, the B.R.O. operator could pull off a wykkyd wyld 1080° while balancing off a terrorist's nose, at the same time deflecting bullets with the deck's reinforced nanocarbon surface. Dudebro grinded down the nuclear plant's cooling tower. The Terrorist Base was nearby, and the Terrorist Army had locked down the Filthy Third-Worlders Village. Foreigners were, like, dying and stuff. Fucking "for the fail," Dudebro tweets. The game suddenly switches to "playing" a poor foreign guy getting tortured and shot in the village. Then it switches to a completely unrelated sequence you play as a militant with no relation to the game's plot, and personally blow up a field full of unsuspecting White Christian American Children Playing Team-Sport (Near a Church) before suicide bombing a bus full of disabled veterans. As the smoke twists into the sky, an American flag burns... "Damn..." muttered Dudebro, his all-watching whiskers picking up the signals. "This is some Bro Hawk Down shit... with a bit of Brotel Rwanda... so deep... makes u think..." He paints a laser target for a bombing run onto the school, mosque, and water treatment facilities where some Terrorists might possibly maybe be. "War is hell... semper fi oorah." ---- EmCeeGramr "Dudebro, Mount Rushmore is under attack!" "Nobody messes with the Prez Crew... Big G Washingtoke, Tommy Jeffersup, Abroham Linkin, and especially the Ruff Ryder Himself, T-Broosevelt, aka T-Bro, aka Bull T, aka Lil Ray-ray." ---- EmCeeGramr CUTSCENE DB=DUDEBRO AH=AL-HUANGNANDEZ, second-in-command to PESQUALI AL-HUANGNANDEZ lies defeated, the JIHAD-MECH totally blasted by a barrage of Javelin missiles. He's got like soot and smoke and shit all over his clothes and face, and his mouth is hanging open showing his fucked up crooked-ass teeth. Shit's nasty as fuck. DUDEBRO walks up and picks him up by his robe or shirt or whatever that shit is. DB: A'ight, Al-Huangnandez, you just got rocked into the next dudemension. Hook a bro up with the broordinates to them dirty-ass bombs, or I'm gonna rip you up, you fuckin' commie jihad cholo dick-vacuum. AH: (thick 'foreign' accent) Ah... Dudebro. No, I am afraid I cannot tell you. Soon... your country will pay for its crimes. DB: Fuckin' weaksauce, Brosama. Time to school you in the mother land of the free, home of the brave, U-S-of-fuckin'-A, motherbitches. AH: So... you think your country is so 'great', ah? "Leader of the... ha, 'free,' world," and such. Ah, you are like the ox that leads its herd to the slaughter. Let me enlighten you to the truth. DB: Spare me the brolitical shit. I seriously don't got no shits to give about fucking capitalistism, or some poor-ass dictator country wanting food or shit, or holy god jihads or whatever. AH: So... you don't care about world politics? DB: Fuck no, n-word (says "n-word," not actually like, the actual n-word, totally not racist dawg.). All I need is some brewskis, a piece, and some doucheloads to lay out. I need a reason to do that like I need a reason to spark up some buds, and guess what bitch, I don't need a reason to spark up some buds. AH: You don't care about the vast difference in wealth between nations? The exploitation of the Third World markets and their lack of an advocate on the global stage? Neocolonialism, economic imperialism, neoliberal economics, using popular media and global corporatism as vessels by which to plant seeds of First World cultural values and ideas into the youth of other cultures? The complex dynamics of how even "obviously good" things like food and medical aid to Third World nations can upset local cultural rituals and values, causing a cultural upheaval and disastrous economic consequences, resulting in national anger and the election of anti-Western governments which your country will then label a "threat to peace," and take action against? DB: ... AH: ... DB: Yo, here's some "food aid:" you can eat my fists. (fake punches in front of AL-HUANGNANDEZ's nose, who jumps) Ahahaha, holy shit dawg you totally flinched! But for serious, time for some "enhanced interbrogation." DUDEBRO ties the terrorist's hands together and then produces a trucker cap. He places the cap upside-down (at an angle, of course) over AL-HUANGNANDEZ's mouth and nose, almost like a funnel. He then blindfolds the terrorist. Reaction shot of AL-HUANGNANDEZ as he hears some brews being cracked open and poured into something. DUDEBRO reappears with a bucket full of Pabst Blue Ribbon and positions it over the cap covering AL-HUANGNANDEZ's mouth and nose. DB: Back at Beta-Rho, we called this "waterbroarding." END SCENE